I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Zarius stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed over a chest that felt unusually light for once. He wasn’t watching the perimeter, nor was he scanning the rooftops for the flicker of a hidden blade, though his instincts never truly slept. Instead, his gaze was anchored to the glass window of a small, fragrant sweet shop. Inside, Cherion could barely stay still. He bounced from one display to another, pointing at jars of candied nuts and berry tarts that looked like they might burst if you stared too long.

He was ordering in "bulk." Again.

Zarius felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, but not with the usual irritation. It was something closer to bewildered fascination. He started going over everything that had happened in the last few hours. They had essentially scoured the market clean. They’d cleared out a textile merchant who specialized in mountain-goat wool, stopped at a stall selling hand-carved bone charms that Cherion insisted were "retro," and spent far too long watching a troupe of street performers.

During that performance, Zarius had essentially turned himself there like a solid barrier . He’d stood with his boots planted wide, a silent, looming wall of muscle and dark fur, ensuring that the bustling crowd didn’t so much as brush against Cherion’s shoulder. The memory of the thugs from earlier, the ones who’d dared to lay their grubby, calloused fingers on Cherion, still curdled in his gut like sour wine. He truly wished he’d done more than just snap a few wrists. Cutting their fingers off, one by one, seemed a more appropriate tax for their insolence.

Then there was lunch. Cherion had forced him, actually forced him, the Duke of the North, to eat something fried and dripping with a sauce that smelled suspiciously of too much garlic.

"It’s greasy and delicious, little Nugget! Don’t be such a royal stick-in-the-mud," Cherion had chirped, shoving the snack toward his face.

What even is a nugget, anyway? ...Actually, never mind.

And Zarius, against every survival instinct he possessed regarding palace-grade etiquette, had taken a bite. It was delicious. It was also incredibly messy, something Cherion laughed about for a full ten minutes while pointing at the corner of Zarius’s mouth, as if it was too much trouble to simply wipe it for him.

The bell above the shop door chimed, a bright, silver sound that broke Zarius’s reverie. Cherion stepped out, looking absolutely triumphant, like a general who had just successfully besieged a fortress of sugar. Behind him, the shopkeeper was bowing so low his forehead nearly hit the cobblestones, stammering promises that the crates would be delivered to the Duke’s estate before the moon reached its peak.

"A bulk order of sugar?" Zarius asked, his voice a low rumble as he fell into step beside the smaller man. "Are you planning to rot the teeth of my entire legion of troops? I expect my knights to fight, not to languish in the infirmary with cavities."

Cherion didn’t even skip a beat. He tucked his hands behind his back, looking up at the sky with a smug grin. "Oh, hush. It’s called a ’morale booster,’ little Nugget. Your men spend all day training in the snow. A little honey and spice, and suddenly everyone remembers they love their job. Besides, if their teeth rot, they can just gum the enemies to death."

They wandered away from the busy crowd as the afternoon slowly faded and the shadows grew longer. They eventually found a quiet square centered around a stone fountain. The water within was half-frozen, the ice forming delicate, crystalline lace around the edges, but the center still bubbled, tinkling musically in the air.

Cherion sat on the edge of the fountain, letting out a long, shuddering, happy breath. "Gah," he exhaled, the sound puffing out in a little cloud of white. "Today was so fun. Seriously. Can’t this day just... not end?"

He leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out. He looked completely, utterly relaxed. It was a stark contrast to the sharp-eyed, calculating person Zarius usually dealt with. Here, under the Northern sky which was rapidly turning a bruised, violent shade of purple and gold, Cherion looked almost... at peace with everything.

Zarius lingered beside him, watching in silence, his gaze steady enough that Cherion could feel it without even looking. "Really?" Zarius asked quietly. "You enjoyed this?"

Cherion tilted his head back, his eyes catching the dying light of the sun. They were bright, dancing with a hidden fire. "I did. Every second of it. But..." He straightened up, looking a bit more curious. "It makes me wonder. What’s the real occasion here, Duke? I mean, you’re not exactly known for your spontaneous shopping sprees. I hope we’re not out here celebrating Philia getting a cold or something. Because as much as I hate that guy, celebrating a fever would make us just as low as him."

Zarius looked away, his eyes tracking a lone bird circling the frozen spires of the castle in the distance. He stayed silent for a long moment, the only sound the trickling of the fountain.

"Hardly," Zarius finally said, his voice dropping an octave. "You’ve worked... harder than expected. For the subjugation. It’s been a lot. I simply thought you might need a moment of ease."

He paused, a dark shadow flickering across his face. "And Philia is currently haunting the halls of my home like a bad smell. Let’s keep our distance until he finally goes back to the palace."

Cherion let out a soft, knowing "Oooh." He hopped off the fountain, walking a slow circle around Zarius. "So, this is a reward? And an escape? Isn’t the great Duke being a little too picky with his favors? Spoiling me like this... the others will be jealous, you know. People might start talking."

Zarius turned his head, his red eyes locking onto Cherion’s.

"And what," Zarius asked, his tone dangerously smooth, "is so wrong with a man spoiling his own fiance? If they have something to say, they can say it to my face. I’m sure my sword hasn’t grown too blunt to handle a few wagging tongues."

Cherion’s mouth opened slightly, a faint flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the Northern chill. He let out a small huff and looked away, crossing his arms like that would somehow hide the way his heart had just flipped.

"Whatever," Cherion muttered, his eyes darting around the square to find literally anything else to look at. His gaze landed on a small, crooked structure tucked into an alleyway near the edge of the square. It didn’t look like the other stalls. It was draped in heavy, dark cloths that didn’t flap in the wind, and a low, purple light flickered from within. "Oh, wait. What’s that? It looks... different. Is that a specialty shop?"

Before Zarius could answer, Cherion was already halfway across the square. He peered at the sign, a weathered piece of wood painted with a single eye. He practically skipped back to Zarius, his earlier embarrassment forgotten in a wave of curiosity.

"It’s a fortune teller!" Cherion said, his eyes wide. "Come on. We have to try it. This should be interesting."

Zarius felt a cold spike of genuine irritation. "No. Absolutely not. Please, Cherion, tell me you aren’t that gullible. I don’t believe in such things. It’s all lies and smoke tricks designed to part fools from their coin."

"Oh, come on! Where’s your sense of fun?" Cherion laughed, reaching out and grabbing Zarius by the wrist. The Duke stiffened at the touch, his entire body bracing, but he didn’t pull away. "It’s just for fun."

"Ah, yes. Fun. My favorite reason to walk into obvious nonsense." Zarius grumbled, but his feet were already moving.

Cherion didn’t listen. He just grinned, his grip firm and warm as he dragged the most feared man in the North toward the dark, flickering entrance of the hut. Zarius sighed and followed anyway, wondering exactly when he had lost the ability to say ’no’ to the man currently leading him into the unknown.